


Another You

by happinesssdeceit (crescenttwins)



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Pre-Canon, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 08:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescenttwins/pseuds/happinesssdeceit
Summary: But here’s the thing about high school: there’s no women’s football.Or, Hiruma and Kurita are girls, and nothing really changes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [putsch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/putsch/gifts).
  * Translation into Français available: [Another You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13795743) by [BubbleSnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleSnake/pseuds/BubbleSnake)



> In your letter, you listed Hiruma/Agon and Hiruma/Kurita next to each other and it made me laugh, and then I saw Rule 63 AU so I hope you like this treat! <3

Kurita is big: she has never denied the roundness of her belly and the softness of her jawline, the stretch marks that hide on the inside of her curvy thighs. Because underneath the fat there is muscle that she worked hard for, muscle that makes her a good linesman and a better wall. 

But here’s the thing about high school: there’s no women’s football. 

And there are things that are difficult for her because of her size-- the way that people look at her in the halls, for example, and the fact that the school doesn’t  _ have _ girl’s uniforms in her sizes means that she wears the boy’s uniform. 

And, she doesn’t mind wearing the boy’s uniform, it’s just.

Sometimes she wants to wear the red ribbon of the girl’s uniform, and feel a skirt brush against her legs, and look up shyly at someone that’s confessing to her, like in the books. Sometimes she wants that. For her to be someone desirable, someone lovely, someone to protect. It’s a bit silly-- her height is over 190 cm; she can bench more than any member of the men’s football team; and she’s-- 

Big.

And there are comments, sometimes, about how she would be pretty if she were thinner, because with her height she could be like the models from America-- and they are comments enough to make her reconsider that last rice ball of her lunch, because... maybe so. 

So she sits there, contemplating her last rice ball at her desk when the classroom door is slammed open. Kurita doesn’t look up, doesn’t cower in the corner the way her classmates around her are: she doesn’t need to.

So she continues pondering her rice ball, until the chair from the next desk over is kicked closer and a lanky figure settles into it.

“Oi,” the other girl says, moments later.

Kurita raises her eyes, takes in the rail thin frame of the blonde in front of her, her thick hair spiked as always, eyes narrowed and sharp teeth slightly bared.

“What’s so interesting about the rice ball, fucking fatty?” The girl says, and if Kurita tilts her head she can hear a faint undercurrent of worry.

“Hiruma,” she says in response, “do you like rice balls?” She runs a self-conscious hand over her belly without thinking about it. “They say white rice goes straight to fat.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a low sound-- a growl, Kurita thinks-- before Hiruma’s pulling out her 9 mm Beretta, her slouch sliding into something slightly more coiled. “Now why,” Hiruma says, casually flicking off the safety, “would you be worried about something like that?”

A girl in the back of the room whimpers, and Hiruma’s eyes lock on her. A moment later, Hiruma grins widely, the fake grin that she uses to show off all her sharp teeth, and she flicks the safety back on, tucks away the gun.

“Well then,” Hiruma says, appearing to ignore the rest of the class, “hurry up and eat your rice ball, fucking fatty. We have have things to do before the lunch period ends.” The last time Hiruma smiled like that, Kurita remembers indulgently, she had spent the rest of the day walking to random places and cackling to herself. 

It was fun.

It’s always fun to be with Hiruma, Kurita thinks, and eats her rice ball.

  
  


They are a strange pair to look at, Kurita knows. They are both tall, both first years, and both in the boy’s uniform. These are the things they have in common.

The things that they do not are much more numerous.

Hiruma is the kind of slim that looks delicate until you come up close, realize that she’s densely packed with whipcord muscle. Her hair is, for lack of any other way to say it, flashy and sharp looking, dyed a bright yellow, and her ears fit right into the gelled spikes that never seem to wilt. Her nose is cute and delicate, her eyes large (although her pupils are very very small), and her teeth even larger. 

She’s beautiful, Kurita thinks as she follows the smaller girl, all the while clasping a tackling dummy to her own barrel chest. 

Hiruma turns, cackles once when she catches Kurita’s eye, offers, “Want to get more practice in before heading home?”

It’s a rare offer, one that means that Hiruma has a target in mind and time to spare, and Kurita hesitates only for a moment before nodding enthusiastically. 

They set up on the edge of the football field. The captain-- a muscular male with a buzzed haircut that is a bit like Kurita’s own-- comes over to them with a frown on his face. “We’ve reserved the field for practice,” he informs them curtly, glancing over them. He double takes at Kurita, snorting under his breath, and gestures them off. “You’ll have to try elsewhere if you girls want to play your little football games. And you won’t be able to scare us off with your guns, so don’t even bother.”

“Is that so,” Hiruma says, a strange edge to her voice.

“I know you’re a first year who has a bad habit of waving guns around to get her way,” the captain says, “and you should know I’m not so easily intimidated.” He widens his stance, chest up to bring himself to his full height. Kurita stares at the hair whorl on his scalp and wonders if he considered their relative heights before deciding to try to menace them. 

Hiruma pops a fresh stick of gum in her mouth, glances at Kurita with a question in her eyes.

“Captain,” Kurita tries, “please don’t be angry with us. We’d just like to use a little corner of the field.”

The third year laughs, turning scornful eyes on her. “And I’m telling you,  _ fatso--” _

He chokes abruptly at the gun beneath his chin, eyes darting back towards Hiruma as the smaller girl narrows her eyes, lets her finger trace the trigger. 

“My, my,” Hiruma says, nonchalant, “and we were being so polite.” A familiar black book appears in her palm, a sleight of hand that Kurita has never managed to catch, and she flips to a page seemingly at random. “Hm, you should  _ really _ learn how to erase your search history,  _ fucking captain _ .”

The other boy pales, and Hiruma’s grin gets wider.

(They end up using the entire field. And the football team, albeit a bit against their will-- Hiruma likes moving targets.

While Hiruma sets up her machine gun, cackling all the while, Kurita reaches into her bag and pulls out a rice ball, one of the many that were piled high on her desk when she came to school that morning. 

It’s salmon. 

_ Delicious _ .)

  
  


Kurita cries easily. It’s not her best trait, but it never fails to make Hiruma go a bit softer around the eyes, some of that sharpness blunted by fondness and concern.

She cries when she gets her first period and is certain she is dying; cries when Hiruma turns down a place at one of the most prestigious schools in the country because Kurita didn’t get accepted; cries when the school board looks uncomfortably at Hiruma in the background as they tell Kurita she can wear the boy’s uniform; cries when she discovers it was for nothing, Hiruma chose this low tier school for  _ nothing _ because there’s no women’s football--

Cries when Hiruma kisses her for the first time, so softly and gently that their classmates wouldn’t recognize her as the gun-toting, blackmailing terror of Deimon. 

Hiruma is in her lap, light enough that Kurita realizes abruptly that she could lift her with a single arm. “Is this okay?” Hiruma says, backing off, flushed and nervous but meeting her eyes steadily. 

Kurita wails. “It’s not okay!”

“It’s-- it’s not, that’s--” Hiruma is stuttering. Kurita has made Hiruma  _ stutter _ , the Hiruma that never stutters, not even when she’s fighting with her dad-- 

Kurita is the worst person in the  _ entire world _ . 

“I’m going to  _ crush _ you,” Kurita says, despairing. 

“What.” Hiruma says.

“I’m so much bigger than you,” Kurita says, “I’ll crush you by accident.” She can picture it now, they’re-- they’re kissing on-- on the be-- _ couch  _ and Hiruma leans back and pulls Kurita down and--

There is no way that this ends without Hiruma getting squished. Kurita will accidentally suffocate the smaller girl in her boobs, or smash her with her sheer weight, or-- Kurita makes an unhappy sound, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

Hiruma sighs, a fond but gruff sound, and wipes Kurita’s face with her sleeves. “You think I would let you, you fucking fatty?” 

That’s true, Kurita thinks. Hiruma isn’t one to let herself get hurt, despite how easily she seems to let go of grudges. Hiruma wouldn’t let Kurita crush her. She exhales noisily in relief.

“Besides,” Hiruma says, leaning in close enough that Kurita can feel the other girl’s breath on her cheek. “Getting pinned down might also be  _ fun _ , don’t you think?”

And. That’s. 

Kurita feels her face go hot, is certain that she’s bright red but is unwilling to look away to check, lets her arms pull Hiruma forward so Kurita can hide her face in her friend’s (girlfriend’s???) shoulder. She can feel it when the other girl starts to cackle.

  
  


They starting practicing with the men’s football team. It’s a bit silly, Kurita thinks, but Hiruma runs alongside her and blows bubbles and fires her machine gun and says nothing, the way she does when she’s thinking deeply. 

And then, one day, Hiruma pulls her aside after the locker room has emptied out, slips her hands into the knot of Kurita’s tie as she presses their lips together. They could get caught, Kurita thinks, turns their bodies so her bulk hides Hiruma. She’s so focused on listening for interlopers that she doesn’t register what Hiruma is doing until the slimmer girl sits back, a smile on her face.

Kurita looks at her, at the tie grasped in Hiruma’s fist, and looks down.

A red ribbon is hanging at the collar of her shirt, delicate and soft and--

“Oi, don’t cry yet, fucking fatty,” Hiruma says, “there’s one more thing.”

Kurita’s eyes feel like they’re burning, fat tears already blurring her vision. And suddenly there’s a mass of red fabric in front of her, and it takes her a moment to realize, to understand what Hiruma has just handed her. Two white sevens, her  _ number _ , her  _ jersey-- _

“There’s no rule against girls participating on the men’s football team,” Hiruma says, as Kurita crushes the other girl to her chest. 

“We can  _ play _ ,” Kurita realizes, crying messily and half delirious, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Hiruma, Hiruma, we can  _ play _ .”

“We still have a year to go to the Christmas Bowl,” Hiruma says, soft, “and the current team is shit. We’ll have to be aggressive when the fresh blood comes in.” Her eyes are already looking forward, plans and plots sliding into place, and Kurita can’t believe how lucky she is, to have this.

  
  


(And this, this is the part Kurita won’t know for a while yet: Hiruma loves her, loves her deeply but lacks the words for it-- lacks the  _ understanding _ of it. Instead, Hiruma will wrap herself into tangles as she plots out their dates and time together like a general planning for warfare, a separate notebook from the Devil Bats’ trick plays and the Devil’s Handbook. 

And in the future, Kurita will discover this notebook, because a certain fucking monkey and fucking shorty will be curious about Hiruma’s things while she is exhausted and sleeping. When Hiruma awakens, she will see the notebook in Kurita’s hand and not realize that it was never opened, will turn the darkest red Kurita has seen her, will turn her guns on the first years with vicious accuracy until they flee.

And then they’ll make eye contact, and Kurita will slowly, carefully, crack open the book with clumsy fingers while Hiruma watches, and realize how long Hiruma has loved her.)


End file.
